An Open Wound
by MaddyTears
Summary: Isaac Lahey is alone, hurt, and confused about his identity. He is a shy boy with no friends and an angry father. He has nightmares, is abused, and struggles with self harm daily. Everyday is an inner struggle, but he will not go down without a fight. Set pre-season 2 before his changing. Warning: Contains abuse, self harm and depression with other dark themes.


**This fanfiction will take place roughly around the age of sixteen for Isaac, but right now it begins with him at the age of thirteen. I'm not sure what direction this story is going in, I would like ideas from the readers. So please let me know/review what you would like to happen in the future :)**

_**Warning: This fanfiction contains dark themes associated with violence, depression and self harm.**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, except for future OCs**_

**Isaac POV**

A small smile creeps on my lips as I press play. The music bursts out of my speakers in periodical waves. This type of music has always calmed me, made me feel better when I'm down. Which, if I'm honest, is most of the time. I spin in my desk chair a couple of times, catching a glimpse of myself in my mirror. My curls sit messily in a side part and my blue eyes are wide despite my exhaustion. I may only be thirteen, but my dad has already arranged my new job at the graveyard. I dig graves for money. It's a weird job, I know. But it keeps him happy. When my dad is kept happy, I am more safe.

Despite the music, my eyes wander to the top desk drawer. I know what's inside, I know what I want to do. I fight the urge. The scalpels will not help me tonight. I have to keep my head strong and stay focused. Dad just got home and will probably want to talk to me soon. I have to prepare myself, whatever that entails. I wish someone would call me on the phone, or through my window, or anywhere really. I'd like someone to talk to. Someone to maybe understand. Perhaps if I had a friend, I could tell someone about what happens to me. But who am I kidding? I'm too shy to make friends, and even if I did tell someone... I'd probably be dead by the time someone of importance found out. My dad would make sure of that.

"Isaac! Come down for dinner!" Dad calls out, his voice sends chills running down my spine. It's been about two days since something physical has happened between us, I don't expect it to be for much longer. I turn off my ipod and run my fingers over my face. I want to cry. I want to disappear. But I can't escape, I can't escape this nightmare. So I smile at myself through my fingers into the mirror until it is convincing enough. I put on a mask, to hide it all, and eventually leave my room.

I climb down the stairs and jump at the bottom -a light skip in my step. I walk into our kitchen, my dad has his back to me and the dining table is empty. I clear my throat, but he says nothing. I take the incentive and lay the table quickly, not wanting to anger him. I put two place mats at either end of the table, then one in the middle. Atop each one I put a plate and cutlery. As I walk between the two ends of the table, I imagine the two seats facing inwards being filled. I imagine my mother's smile and my brother's stupid jokes. I remember the room being filled with laughter, when now it is just filled with a tense silence.

He finally turns and moves towards me. He hasn't acknowledged my existence yet.

"H-Hi." I cough, taking a seat across from him.

"What are you mentally retarded? Cut that stupid stutter out." he spits, placing a plate of food in the middle of the table. At least he cooked something, for which I am grateful. We used to go on fishing trips together, he would even barbeque what we caught for dinner. But now, we haven't been for years.

"Sorry, i-it's been uh- getting worse lately." I stutter when I'm nervous. It's embarrassing and I hate when I do it, but luckily I'm mostly only nervous around him. When I'm at school I'm very quiet and don't talk to many people. So not many people get to hear it. I gulp and adjust my legs under the table.

"A lot of things of yours have been getting worse lately Isaac. Too many things." He takes a seat at the opposite end of the table, pulling in his chair behind him.

Before I even know what I've done, I splutter out an apology. "I'm sorry. I'll try to do better. I promise dad." At least that time I didn't stutter.

"I heard you playing that damn music again." He puts down his knife and fork. "Why is that Isaac?" His eyes pierce mine and my cheeks turn to ice.

"I don't... I don't have any headphones to use." I say quietly.

"You what?" He picks up the knife and twirls it in his palm. I consider lying, and saying that I never said anything. But I know that would only end worse.

"I said I don't have any headphones." I say a bit louder. "You broke them, remember?"

Dad raises his eyebrows. "No, I distinctly remember it being your fault. We've been over this Isaac. You must not tell lies." He points the knife at me accusingly. I feel my heart rate increase.

"But...but I'm not lying. You stood on them on purpose, because I stuffed up during baseball training." It was just last week. We were out in public, so he couldn't do anything drastic to me. In the parking lot beside the field, he shoved me to the side and I dropped my ipod. He stood on it in the mud right in front of me -but the ipod did not break, only the headphones. My heart rate rises even more when I watch him stand.

"Are you calling me a liar now Isaac?" He asks. I immediately regret everything. I should've just gone along with what he said. I shake my head furiously and try to put a quick few mouthfuls of food into my mouth. I don't know how long it will be until I see food again.

"Let's take this downstairs." He bangs the knife on the table, although I am glad he doesn't throw it. My hands begin to shake and my chin wobbles.

"No, please dad I-" I don't get to finish my sentence before he moves over to me. My dark blonde curls make for excellent grabbing points. He drags me out of my chair by the follicles and throws me forward onto my knees. A painful sound erupts from my chest and I call out his name.

"Dad! I don't want to go down there. Please stop." My voice is muffled by the carpet, but the words are still understandable. He grabs the back of my shirt and yanks me upwards. I scramble forward on my hands and knees, then roll onto my back. My arms cover my face and upper body -to protect myself. The kicking starts. Each blow is more powerful than the last. I hear my ribs make unsightly cracks and groans of protest, but he knows how to hurt me without breaking bones. Broken bones would mean a trip to the hospital. Frequent hospital trips would lead cause for suspicion.

He kicks me until I'm at the top of the stairs. I inhale a breath and let myself fall down the welcoming steps. I know what's coming. I don't even try to fight it. What could a thirteen year old boy do to a fully grown man? My cheeks are wet now. I did not even notice. I lie, motionless, in a heap on the floor. The dust blows off the ground from where I exhale. It's the calm before the storm, and I relish in the moment before closing my eyes. Something hard, not human flesh, bashes against my fingers. I recoil them to my chest and shake in terror. They are wet, and without looking I can tell they're dripping with blood.

The freezer is close by now, I can see it just inches away. I feel my dad's hands on me, and my bruised ribs scream in protest. But I am too tired, too hurt and too submissive to acknowledge them. And for a moment he carries me, and I remember being a small child in his arms. The way he used to lay me down to sleep, tell me stories, stroke my forehead and whisper goodnight. The way he used to love me. He throws me into the metal box and my knee catches the main impact. I scream, imagining the box walls closing in on me. He slams the lid down and it comes into contact with my skull. I sink down, dazed, and everything turns dark. At first I think it's just my vision being blurred, but slowly my eyes adjust to the light. I see the outline of the freezer form, the corners darker than the air just in front of my eyes. I hate tight spaces. I hate it.

Horrible whimpering sounds escape my lips. It's only a matter of time before I start beating at the walls to try and escape. I hear him latch on the padlock, and turn the key.

"Let me out! Please!" I beg. I know he can still hear me. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" The pressure under my fingernails build, the grainy inner layer of the freezer pushes against the sensitive skin. The top layer of my skin comes off, but I do not stop scratching. I leave marks, hundreds of them, and it crosses my mind that dad has not left yet. I can hear him breathing, just outside my metal cage. Deep down I know this is not about music, lying or bad baseball training. It's about my mother, my brother, my family. The Lahey family that is no more. He blames me for it, and tells me this often. When someone repeats something enough, you start to believe it yourself. I bring my knees to my chest and rock back and forth -trying to push the pain away. It's slow, chilling, and sneaks up on my heart. I feel it start in my fingertips, move up my wrists and along my arms. It settles in my chest and I imagine tiny cracks forming across my torso.

"You're not sorry Isaac, you're a monster." he spits, the hatred in his voice is palpable. "It's all your fault Isaac. All of it." He laughs and holds the box still as I thrash around. My clothes begin to dampen with blood, my tears have fallen to my neck. I hear voices grow in my mind, I only fight the box more. I'm not entirely sure if the voices are his or just in my mind, but they do not fade. They do not leave me alone.

How I miss them. How I would do anything to get them back. But this is my fault. I deserve it. For every word my dad says may be cruel, but he is no liar. I am to blame for their absence. I will cut, I will cry, but I will never bring them back.


End file.
